


Getting It Right

by tomioneer



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Fourth Shinobi War, I don't say this enough but temari is an angel, WARNING for traumatic injury and thoughts of death, blood tw, i hurt the characters I love most, please assume she is the only heavenly body in this fic and no one came out of the moon, this narrative isn't anti-Sasuke but he isn't exactly stable in this divergent timeline, written pre-Sakura's Byakugou revelation, written pre-Tobi-unmasking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 05:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomioneer/pseuds/tomioneer
Summary: Sakura is not certain exactly how long she has been laying on the ground bleeding before the medic comes, but she is very glad when he does.Originally posted on ff.net under the same title, but now significantly expanded.





	Getting It Right

**Author's Note:**

> Six years ago on Valentine's Day I wrote and posted three Sakura-shipping fics with three different pairings. Here's one of them, edited and polished and old enough now to be in primary school. 
> 
> At the time of the writing I was already very behind in the manga and jumping to wild conclusions about how things might end up, so please be forgiving in regards to the blatant divergences from the source material such as Shī's age; this story was written almost ten months before that information was released in the fourth databook, so I made my best guess and ran with it.
> 
> On that note, however, I have thrown in a substantial amount of new narrative, adding a few references to what we now know to be canon where they fit, as well as to my own headcanons. This story is now twice as long.
> 
> Inspired by the song Irvine by Kelly Clarkson.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day.

She wonders if this is what death is supposed to be like.

To be quite frank, Sakura is not certain exactly how long she has been laying there fading in and out of awareness. The fighting has shifted farther north, leaving only stragglers and the dead behind—she can’t say which group she is best qualified for, left to bleed out in the dirt as she has been. Sakura closes her eyes to a barren wasteland, scattered with the occasional body where others have been cut down within view, and opens them to see a blond man standing several meters away. Her lips part a little in silent surprise that matches his own raised brows. There is blood on his hands and face, but none of it appears to be his. Only a second later he is crossing the space between them and dropping to his knees, a hand landing on her torn chest, just under her clavicle. Chakra, cool and soothing on her ragged wound, makes her sigh, which in turn causes her to bite back a cry of pain.

“Don’t worry,” he tells her, “I’m a medic. I can heal you.”

 _That much is obvious_ , she thinks, and opens her mouth to speak only to have blood spill past her lips and slide down her cheek. Sakura knows she is dying. She’d come to terms with it before this random medic happened across her.

If she dies here it won’t be his fault, and she hopes the medic knows that. It will be because Sasuke cut her down when they crossed paths and left her behind when she fell. He said she was in the way, but didn’t seem to have truly seen her. It’s hard to decide if that makes it better or worse. She’d already been injured, and badly, but his blow was the one to bring her down.

“It looks as though you’ve taken some severe damage,” he says very calmly, “were you on the front lines?”

 _Always_ , Sakura thinks, and manages a slow blink. Even though she’s not supposed to be, even though her Strength of a Hundred Seal isn’t ready yet, somehow Sakura always winds up right in the crossfire. Her teachers’ combined bad luck must have rubbed off on her.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he mutters, and she’s rather impressed. Not that he understood—she’s fairly sure he didn’t—but that he’s kept his sense of humor through the violence all around them. Though really, it’s quite some ways away, isn’t it? She can barely hear the battle anymore for all the ground shakes under her.

Sakura is very thankful he stumbled upon her. If he hadn’t, she would probably be dead in a few more minutes, and she doesn’t want to die. Desperately, suddenly, intensely—Sakura _doesn’t want to die_. She goes from accepting to her death to horrified by the prospect in a second. There is so much she hasn’t done, and so much she regrets. It may be cowardice, it may be the natural fear of a life facing its end, but... she begins to cry softly, tears sliding across her face and blurring her vision. She wants, so much, to live longer.

Sakura only realizes she has spoken aloud—that he has healed her enough to enable speech—when he asks, “Any particular reasons? Aside from the general not-wanting-to-be-dead thing?”

 _As a matter of fact_. There are several she can think of, distantly, but the immediate concern that pops into her head is childish, frivolous, and embarrassing. “... It’s so stupid,” she whispers at length, and the other medic-nin swallows, then shakes his head. She knows he’s trying to keep her talking, keep her awake.

“I’m sure it isn’t,” he answers softly, and she feels his chakra spread farther across her side as he slides one hand to her ribcage. Whether that means he’s given up on or finished healing the chest injury, she can’t tell. Sakura can’t feel much of anything anymore. Is he using a jutsu to numb her pain, or is it her life slipping away under his gentle hands? “Tell me.”

A barely-there smile pulls at her bloody lips, the taste of copper thick on her tongue. “It’s silly... maybe immature... but I don’t want to die ‘cuz I.... haven’t even been kissed...”

“Really?” he asks, and his voice is lighter than his hands on her side. “You’re very cute. I’m surprised.”

“Thanks... I think.” Sakura almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of being complimented while filthy and bleeding to death in the dirt. It’s unlikely she’s ever been _less_ attractive. “I was... waiting, you know... ‘cuz it’s supposed to be special... memorable... Wish I hadn’t, now.”

“I will never understand women. Waiting for what?”

She has known from the second she saw his vest he is from Kumo and being honest is risking him pulling away. At worst, he could kill her himself with minimal effort. She speaks regardless—for some reason, she has to speak. Has to tell him, to tell _someone_. “For _Sasuke_ ,” she admits, and her tears are renewed, though bitter this time. Furious with herself, she blinks them away as best she can. Sasuke as he is now is not worth her tears. Maybe Naruto can change that, maybe not. But she has, at long last, given up on hope. “I... used to love him. My teammate...”

To his credit, all the man does is frown, little white lines etching themselves around his mouth. “You are from Konoha, after all.” For a moment, that seems to be all he will say. Exhaling sharply, he eventually asks, “Then you’re also teamed with the Kyuubi jinchuuriki, aren’t you?” She makes a soft humming sound of affirmation. “That makes you Haruno Sakura, the Hokage’s apprentice?” An odd half-smile flickers over his lips. “I’m one of the Raikage’s bodyguards.”

“Imagine that,” leaves her lips on an exhale. She’s very glad he’s not the type to let a grudge against one person stop him from healing another. “Weird... for the two of us to end up here.”

He meets her eyes for the first time in several long minutes. The skin around his eyes is tight, and he’s begun to sweat from the sustained effort of healing her. “Yes. It is.” A beat passes. “Aren’t you a medic?”

“Can’t feel most of my body. I’m not sure... where the injuries are.”

“Ah.” Silence falls between them, and distantly Sakura can hear explosions, then an animal scream of rage. The sound makes her shudder; she knows that scream, has heard it from her teammate more than once. It is the Nine-tails, awakened and absolutely furious.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she tells him quietly, “the others need you more.”

His answer is firm and swift. “I doubt that very much. You’re one of the best medics in this war and we’ll need you to help everyone else recover when they’re done. To that end, it’s in everyone’s best interest that I heal you now.” He fixes his eyes on her shoulder and rests a hand on either side of yet another injury. This one, at least, she remembers vividly—the blow from Sasuke’s sword replays in her mind as the medic’s chakra envelops the wound. Better yet, she can feel it knit together, warmth flowing under her skin as he repairs the damages. “If you die, we’re all screwed in the long run. I’m man enough to admit that my skills are paltry compared to yours and your master’s. You’re very much needed, Sakura.

“Besides,” he adds after a second, catching her eyes and smiling. “A medic must not give up on healing their patient until that ninja’s dying breath. I think your Hokage said that, didn’t she?”

Hearing that, Sakura can’t help but smile. He is a kind person to say such things, yes, but there’s a ring of truth to his words that helps spark a fire in her. She doesn't just _want_ to live. She _must_. She _will_. For herself, for her friends—for Naruto and _Tsunade_. This cannot be the end of her. How disappointed would Shisou be, to hear Sakura died of injuries before she could activate her Seal?

Tsunade would never forgive her for giving up on her life now. Feeling stronger with this reminder, Sakura gathers enough of herself to tease him, “Such familiarity.”

“Well. You are younger than me.”

Letting her eyes slip closed, she asks, “How old are you?”

“Twenty.” Another beat. “Practically ancient compared to you.”

“I’m surprised you know those words,” Sakura admits. “I thought... they were kept to Konoha Shinobi.”

“Every medical ninja alive has studied the works of Tsunade. She’s a legend in our field.”

“Yeah.” Unsure what to say now, Sakura sighs and is pleased to realize that it doesn’t hurt. Methodically, gradually, the man has healed or at least closed every injury of note, even brushing his fingers over her brow and eliminating her concussion in seconds.  “You’re very skilled.”

“You’re helping.” Her eyes flutter open, startled, and he laughs very softly. “Didn’t you even notice? You’re doing half the work.”

“Habit,” she decides after absorbing this information. Focusing inwards, she touches her chakra reserves and can feel them draining. She really is healing herself. No wonder he moved on from each wound so quickly. “I once had to heal a fatal sword wound while the sword was still in me.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Sasori of the Red Sand, so it was poisoned too.”

“Hmm. I’m rather useless when it comes to poisons, to be honest,” he confesses, and Sakura smiles.

“I’ve had a lot of practice. You heal quickly.”

“As you said, I’ve had a lot of practice. I’m a field medic, not a surgeon. Which is why I can say with some authority that you, Sakura, are _not_ going to die today.” That said, he lifts his hands, the glow of the Mystic Palm Jutsu fading as he sits back on his heels. “There. You aren’t fully healed, so you shouldn’t engage unless you have to, but I think I’ve done pretty damn well for a thirty-minute patch job. How do you feel?”

“Exhausted and dizzy,” she tells him dryly. “Blood loss and running on soldier pills for several days does that to you.”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth kicking up. “True enough. That aside?”

His hand raises, closes around hers as he leans forward to help her sit, and Sakura exhales slowly, testing the repairs. The gash on her chest is fully healed. Her broken ribs are mended. Her legs no longer ache, and she can move—and feel—her hands. The gash on her shoulder that cut clean through her collarbone is entirely healed when she reaches up and probes it, but there’s a ridge of soft skin. A new scar, bigger than any she’s had before. _Thanks to Sasuke_ , she thinks bitterly, and her hand shakes as she drops it to her lap.

Pushing the thought away, Sakura looks to her rescuer. “Better. Much better. I’m not in any pain, at the very least. Thank you.” She reaches up to slip her other hand around his shoulder, and it doesn’t hurt at all when he lifts her onto her knees. “Thank you _so much_.”

One of his hands is warm around hers, slick with blood. The other presses against her back. He kneels close enough that, when he speaks, his breath warms her cheek. “You’re very welcome, Sakura.”

There is a moment of stillness, his eyes on hers, before he shrugs a little and leans down. His lips catch and press solidly against hers for a few seconds as he tips his head slightly to one side. He doesn't seem to care that there’s blood on her lips, and he keeps his deliberately closed. When he pulls back, she can see tentative amusement in his dark eyes, and her blood on his mouth. Something in her chest lurches. She didn’t realize his eyes are black as Sasuke’s. “There. You’re _still_ going to be alive, and that’s taken care of. Can you stand?”

Sakura is frozen in shock for a few seconds before the sheer absurdity of what has just occurred strikes her fully. Wetting her lips, she asks first, “What’s your name?”

He blinks at her. “Shī.” Nodding, Sakura commits this to memory. He was, after all, her first kiss—and it was a memorable one, indeed. “I thought I mentioned that.”

“Nope. Here, help me up?” She can stand, with his help, and they move gradually, steadily to the edge of the new battleground where fires rage and giants battle, waiting for the moment when the need for medics overcomes the need to keep fighting. They wait for Naruto to win, Shī’s arm around her back, hers held across his shoulders, and soon she forgets her brush with death and romance because Naruto is dying, and saving him is something only she can do.

 

* * *

 

The next time she sees Shī, it is at a meeting of the Kage. She is there for Tsunade, and he is there for the Raikage, A. The meetings are much, much more informal in the wake of the Alliance; each village has one side of a large table, and each Kage has one of their shinobi sitting on either side of them. Sakura is on Tsunade’s left and on hers is Temari, sitting to Gaara’s right. It’s symbolic, Sakura supposes, being a right hand or a left hand. Kankuro sits to his brother’s left, and after that is the delegation from Kiri, then Kumo, then Iwa, then Shizune.

Shī is also on the left, where he sits across from her. The Raikage’s right hand is a large man with white hair and dark skin who speaks carefully and seems to apologize an awful lot. Next to Shī is an older shinobi from Kiri he seems to be comfortable with; maybe they worked together during the war.

Throughout the meeting, Sakura takes notes like the rest of the left hands. The various Kage’s right hands occasionally weigh in on a matter as the leaders bicker amongst themselves with the familiarity and warmth of a tight-knit family. Sakura wasn’t at the Kage summit or any of the meetings during or leading up to the war, but she is sure they have come a long, long way.

The attendees seem to be an odd mix of bodyguard, student, advisor, and friend; apparently the choice was left very much up to the Kage’s discretion. Gaara is outright teasing the Tsuchikage, which is something Sakura never thought she’d live to see. Judging by the bright smile on Temari’s face, she is every bit as relieved. _He has come farther than anyone,_ Sakura thinks while reviewing her meticulous record of the conference’s topics and decisions. Somehow the conversation dissolved from talking about international borders and new rules regarding the crossing thereof to the young Kazekage wondering aloud why they are called ‘Hidden’ Villages when they all knew the exact locations of the others. This led to the Tsuchikage puffing out his chest and defending the tradition.

From the long-suffering look on Shī’s face, it’s a conversation they’ve had many times. He catches her watching him and smiles warmly; Sakura blinks and looks back to her paper, suddenly unable to think of anything but the sensation of his lips on hers and what he looked like with her blood on his mouth. It’s an image she’s been fixated on since the end of the war.

Hardly conducive to furthering the relations of the various shinobi villages—or at least, not in such as way as to be discussed over a meeting table with five heads of state and their most trusted companions. Her Shishou, Sakura thinks wryly, glancing at the boisterous woman on her right, would likely be delighted to hear Sakura entertaining such thoughts. For all her empathy, she’s never approved of Sasuke. Not even now that he’s in the village.

“I just want to know,” Kankuro cuts in loudly, and while Sakura jumps a little in surprise his brother spares him a scathing glance for the interruption, “what’s going to be done about the minor shinobi villages? What happens if they get offended that we didn’t involve _them_ in the War?”

Tsunade makes a sharp, thoughtful sound and sits back, drumming her nails on the table. “I hadn’t thought of that. There are too many of them for us to ignore completely; it would be begging for trouble. Especially if they take the idea of a Shinobi Alliance to heart and move against us.”

“We won the war,” Gaara agrees, “but not without substantial losses for each of our Villages.”

There is a moment of silence, a weight settling on everyone in the room at the mention of those lost, and Sakura’s hand tightens on her pen. It creaks a little, the sound of the case beginning to fracture the only sound in the room, and she hastily sets it down.

This is apparently the signal to resume discussion, and Shī sets his pen aside too, speaking up for the first time. Under the table, Temari passes Sakura her pen to use. “They should be grateful,” he says, voice hard enough that it actually startles Sakura. While healing her, his voice had always seemed rather soothing. But this is not the healer; this is a soldier speaking, if not a general given his position beside the Raikage. Any medic worth their salt has some kind of bedside manner, but it gets left at the door when the healing is done. “They would have been decimated, given their smaller numbers, and their economies would topple as a result. Don’t you think, Haruno-san?”

Sakura waves aside the name, to say nothing of his use of an honorific. She’s not sure why Shī has decided to use one _now_ of all times. “Just Sakura, please. I think you and I are a bit beyond formalities, don’t you?”

He shrugs. “I was starting to think you didn’t remember me, to be honest.”

“You saved my life.” Her voice is flat enough to earn a quick look from the blondes on either side of her. Tsunade knew of her injuries at the end of the war, but Sakura never had a chance to tell her who, exactly, healed them. The name of the person who _caused_ the worst of them had taken precedence. Temari may not have known she was injured at all; her clothes cover what scars are left. “I’m not exactly going to forget you, Shī.”

He inclines his head and ignores the blatantly curious looks from many of the other shinobi.

Crossing her legs under the desk, Sakura props her elbow on the table and sets her chin in hand, thinking. “As for what I think on the subject... I must say, I agree with you. Once the smaller Hidden Villages realize how awful the war was, they _should_ be grateful to have been left out of it. And it’s not as though we kept what was happening a secret. Weren’t a few of them evacuated? And word spreads quickly in our business.”

Various nods and murmurs go around the table before the girl on the Tsuchikage’s left slams a fist onto the desk. Her eyes are narrowed, chair toppling over behind her as she stands abruptly. “They could have offered their service at any time, but they didn’t! If any of them _dare_ try and make trouble for us now, we should squash them flat!”

“Hardly,” the Mizukage disagrees swiftly, and Sakura puts her new pen to paper, tracking the conversation as it progresses in this new direction. “That wouldn’t help the political climate in the least.”

The discussions go from there, turning swiftly into a full-on debate. Sakura is rather pleased to notice that not once is it suggested the Alliance be dissolved. The shinobi nations have gone from enemies to comrades-in-arms, and that doesn’t look to be changing anytime soon.

Shī meets her eyes over their desks and paper, the only two left in the room keeping notes on the discussion, and her breath catches in her throat at the sight of his small smile.

 

* * *

 

The left hands—Sakura doubts she will stop thinking of them like that for the duration of the three day conference—gather for an informal dinner that night. They are the odd men out, whether vocal or meek or openly enthused. Student, relative, or bodyguard doesn’t matter when they’re clamoring for the last piece of beef on the grill or pouring each other drinks. There’s no hierarchy among them, because their leaders view one another as respected equals.  

It’s the kind of peace Sakura never thought she might see in her life, had never even entertained as a child in history lessons. It’s delightful to be a part of, however exhausting it can be to keep up with Kankuro and Kurotsuchi’s bickering. As the meal winds down Kankuro’s energy spikes higher and higher as he argues over whether Deidara was a “murdering asshole” (a stance Sakura fully supports) or simply a “misguided rebel”. It’s getting loud at the table, so Sakura excuses herself with a bottle of sake and settles near the window, alternating between watching her old friend and looking at the moon.

A few drinks later Shī disengages from his far quieter discussion with Chojuro and drops himself down to her left, leg drawn up loosely and arm draping over it while he sips from a cup of steaming tea. “Hey.”

Sakura smiles at him. “Hey yourself.” They sit in companionable silence for a while before they both speak at once.

“So what was with throwing me—?”

“How are your—?” They both stop and chuckle before Sakura gestures for him to go first. “How are your injuries? You look fine; were there any complications?”

“You just want to know if you missed something,” she accuses lightly, and shakes her head when Shī shrugs as though to say _and that’s a bad thing how?_ “No. I’m fine. Great, actually.”

“I’m glad,” he tells her, and looks it. A sip of tea later, he tips his head curiously. “Can I check? I’ve been thinking about you—worrying, I mean. That chest wound was...”

It seems an obvious slip of the tongue, and when Sakura stares at him rather than take pity and answer, the tips of his ears begin to turn pink. He trails off, shoulders sinking. It’s _adorable_. “Sure,” she tells him softly, setting aside her cup, “you can look at my shoulder.”

It’s not the sake that makes her face feel warm as she leans away from the window and unzips her red shirt, revealing the thinner black top she wears underneath. Pulling her left arm free of the sleeve, Sakura twists to face him more so the worst of the scar is visible to him and watches his face past the fall of her hair.

All warmth leaves him as he stares at her scar, dark eyes intense. His jaw clenches a little, and he draws a breath in through his nose, tight and controlled. Then his gaze flickers up to hers. “I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job.”

“You were fixing _several_ bones,” Sakura points out easily, because it’s a thought she’s had a few times. “On very short notice, with no tools or doctors to help. You did a field surgery, Shī, I didn’t expect flawless skin.”

“But you deserve it,” he says shortly, then drops his gaze to her shoulder and sets his tea aside. His hands, when they touch her this time, are just as gentle as the day they met, and substantially warmer thanks to his drink. Her newest scars are all still sensitive, and some of them are large, but he healed her well: Sakura has full range of motion, full function. Just discolored, slightly raised skin in a few places, and one thick pink line tracing the path of a horribly sharp sword, cutting through long held affection as surely as through her skin and bone. Everything Shī didn’t fix for her, she was able to heal after her Seal activated a few hours later.

There’s no lasting damage. She’s one of the lucky ones.

A breath shudders out of Sakura, and Shī’s eyes flicker back to her face. Uchiha black, she thinks again, and it’s the only thing about him she doesn’t much care for. “Did I hurt you?” he asks, and one hand alights with the green glow of the Mystical Palm Jutsu. Instantly everyone else in the room is on alert, each of them turning towards the window with a weapon in hand. If Shī notices (and a ninja of his caliber must have) he doesn’t react, just pressing his warm hand to her shoulder, palm over her scar.

“It’s fine,” Sakura tells them, and puts on a smirk when she meets Kankuro’s gaze. He’s the most concerned out of them all; they’ve known each other the longest of everyone here, and more personally, too, given the way she once saved his life. “He’s just double-checking my shoulder. I asked him to.”

Kankuro snorts, but settles his scroll back on the floor. “I’m sure you needed the help, Sakura,” he says, voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm.

She flips him off, and they both laugh, the atmosphere settling back from wary to casual.

An alliance, Sakura thinks again, but they are still shinobi.  

Turning to look at Shī, she lifts a brow. “All good?” she asks in a low voice, and rolls her shoulder under his hand to make a point. He takes it, letting the jutsu die and withdrawing his hands.

“That was a really bad injury,” he says, and picks his tea back up, settling against the wall as she puts her shirt to rights. “And from a sword. Who attacked you?”

He takes a drink, watching her over the rim of his cup. He’s asking a question she isn’t willing to answer: Sasuke attacking her isn’t something she’s going to discuss with someone from the village that once asked for his head, no matter how handsome the person asking is. “I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question,” she says instead of answering, and picks up, then finishes, her own drink while holding his gaze. She’s nothing if not her Shishou’s student, and Tsunade has long since taught Sakura the importance of out-drinking someone when you don’t want to talk to them.

Huffing softly, Shī settles himself lower against the wall. She pours herself another cup, offers him one. Shī shakes his head and they sit together for several minutes, just listening to the debate happening over at the dinner table until he nudges her with his arm. “Earlier, you were asking me something...?”

“Oh yeah,” Sakura says blankly, trying to recall, then frowns at him as it comes back to her. “You totally threw me to the dogs earlier, in the meeting! What was up with that; you had to know I was barely paying any attention.”

“How could I possibly have known that?” he asks, and holds up a hand when she opens her mouth to respond. “Now that _is_ a rhetorical question, Sakura. In short, I honestly wanted to know what you thought about the matter at hand. Once the floor was open up for us to speak, I saw no reason not to draw you into the conversation. I apologize if that made you uncomfortable, but you seemed fine with it.”

Shifting to stretch her legs out in front of her, Sakura blows a strand of hair out of her face. “I _am_ fine with it; it was just a bit of a shock. I didn’t expect to speak in front of _all five Kage_. I don’t actually mind, though. Besides,” she swirls her sake cup for a moment before glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, smiling. It might be a little flirtatious, a little coy, but... she wants it to be. “It gave _us_ a chance to clear the air.”

“To great interest of our compatriots, I noticed,” Shī says with a wry twist to his words. “Darui is probably going to corner me and wrangle out some kind of explanation of our encounter.”

Sakura shrugs. “Shishou’s probably going to do the same to me. It’s not exactly a problem, though. I mean, it _is_ a little embarrassing I couldn’t move enough to heal myself when I’m not supposed to get hit at all, but, well...”

“Sometimes it can’t be avoided,” Shī finishes for her. “Every so often it becomes more practical for a medic to take a hit for their teammate than it is to take the time to heal them later. I imagine something like that was the cause of your wounds?”

He’s fishing—and none too subtly. If she were even a little drunk, it might work, but Sakura has been using her chakra to break down the alcohol all night. As a result, she’s hardly even tipsy.

“Oh, two or three of them,” she answers vaguely, and they fall once more into silence, watching the room. Conversation is easy with the other medic, Sakura reflects, and their shared silences feel just as comfortable. It came naturally to them during the war as well. Quietly, she asks, “You didn’t _really_ think I forgot you, did you?”

“Maybe,” he muses. “I was disappointed when you didn’t seem to recognize me, but then I realized something.”

“What?”

The _look_ he gives her. _Hot damn_ , she thinks and takes a quick drink. It isn’t until she glances back at him that he says, “You spent half the meeting watching me."

“Did not!” she protests, blushing a bit, and he openly smirks at the sight.

“Yes, you did,” he counters smoothly, “I imagine your preoccupation had something to do with the fact that I stole your first kiss?”

And there it is. Apparently they _are_ talking about it after all—Sakura wasn’t sure they would, honestly. There was no way to be sure it meant anything to him at all, that whimsical, breathtakingly shocking kiss, without revealing how much it still means to _her_. Pressing her lips together, imagining she can still feel the weight of his against them, Sakura hums a bit before admitting, “Maybe.”

He laughs just a little, and it is a warm sound that soothes some of the rougher edges of her mind. Not just her doubts about Shī, either. Things in Konoha haven’t been easy; Sasuke’s return has not gone as well as she once hoped. Mind drifting back several weeks, Sakura clenches her empty hand, knuckles going white as she recalls driving her fist into his impassive face. It should have been satisfying, should have been enough to start a fight, should have been enough to make him _look at her_ , but—

Even when he looks her dead in the eye, Sasuke doesn’t seem to see her. When she stood before her Hokage and testified that he was _violently_ _unstable_ , speaking out against Naruto’s raised motion of allowing him free reign of the village and full access to his chakra, when she recommended house arrest and a strict treatment plan... The strongest reaction she got was from Naruto. Her childish plan, developed years ago, of dragging Sasuke to their old training ground and knocking him around to make him take her seriously after he got back wasn’t even worth genuine consideration. Sasuke hadn’t even _apologized_.

But it didn’t matter what he thought. Sakura had it wrong for a long time: Sasuke was never the person she thought he had been. It was a _relief_ when Tsunade asked Sakura to join her at this conference, and Sakura hadn’t even known Shī would be here; she’d still agreed immediately.

“Trouble in paradise?” Shī asks dryly, and explains at her questioning glance, “You’ve got a bad look on your face. I assume it’s something you carried with you from your perfect little village since you’re in such wonderful company here.” His joke falls flat, voice too tight to be truly humorous.

“You have some issues with Konoha, don’t you?” she asks, recalling the distaste in his expression when he had realized where she came from.

“Yeah, you could say that.” His voice is almost unnaturally light. “I had some relatives there, but they were killed some time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Sakura tells him honestly. Losing a person is never easy, no matter how it happened.

“Yeah, me too. I don’t have any blood relatives left at home—that’s par for the course, really, but still... it was nice to know there was someone, while it lasted.”

There’s a beat while they both seem to consider those they’ve lost in their lives. It might be odd, but Sakura can’t help but consider Sasuke one of those losses.

“There is,” she says after a moment. When he raises a brow at her mid-drink, she gives him a half-hearted smile. “Trouble.”

He gestures for her to go on.

“Sasuke’s back, which is all my team really wanted for... years, now. But he’s a criminal, and treated as such—and I know he is one, and _should_ _be_ , so don’t start!” she cuts in, and Shī’s mouth snaps obediently shut. “But Naruto is torn constantly between ecstasy and exhaustion, trying to pave the way for him to be accepted by our peers. Sai, one of my other teammates, is being a brat as per usual but _worse_ because he has this... _stupid_ inferiority complex about Sasuke, since he was brought onto the team as a replacement. And Sasuke, of course, is being just a _huge asshole_ , if you’ll pardon my language.”

Shī scoffs. “Language? Please, I’ve heard worse in the pediatric ward.” A beat. “Look, setting aside my personal... issues... with the Uchiha in general, what on earth do you see in him?”

“‘Do I’?” Sakura repeats faintly, stunned by the present tense. But of course, he hasn’t been in her thoughts, hasn’t spoken to her since the war. He doesn’t know how she’s changed. Flat, immediate, she answers, “Nothing.”

“You said you were waiting for _him_ to kiss you.”

“Yeah. When I was thirteen,” she points out. “After he left the village, left our _team_ , it doesn’t matter how hopeful I was, how stubborn about it. We were never going to get that boy back. He was never going to come home and just... magically fix things by being there.” Sakura laughs a little, at herself, her old daydreams. Sasuke is never going to care about her. She’d have better luck seducing his red-haired teammate Karin than getting him to feel anything for her. She’d date _Kakashi_ , and he’s about _forty_ , before she tried to be with Sasuke.

Naruto may think things are all better, all forgiven, but Sakura knows they’re not. It’s a ball of guilt in her stomach, a sick feeling in her throat. Her dreams have been dashed, but so have Naruto’s, and he just hasn’t realized it yet. “Maybe I still kind of liked him until the war, but it wasn’t as if I actually knew him anymore. Frankly, Shī, I think I know you better than I know Sasuke. I’ve resigned myself to simply never understanding him _or_ how his mind works.”

“Never understanding the mind of a person who would throw away everything he had for a shot at revenge?” Shī startles a laugh out of her with his next words, delivered in a total monotone. “Clearly, _you_ are the sociopath in this scenario.”

The conversation lulls and Shī takes another small sip of his tea before exhaling slowly, relaxing. He blinks and the motion is slow; he is either very comfortable or drugged, and she highly doubts the latter. She can relax too, next to him like this, and their shoulders brush when she slouches a little, tips her head back to glance again at the moon.

“What’s Kumo like?” slips out before she can think better of asking and she hastens to specify. “I mean, I was there at the start of the war, but I was wondering what it’s like the rest of the time. Is it peaceful, or noisy, or cold...?” She trails off at the sight of his smile.

“It’s cold,” he says softly. “And noisy. But then, I work closely with A-sama and B-sama, so I may not be the best judge.” He pauses, a considering look on his face as he looks at her. “Do you like snow, Sakura?”

She smiles, looking out at the rest of the room. Chojuro is be weaving visibly in place, cheeks red. He’s had about half the sake Sakura has. Kankuro seems to have finally won his argument and Kurotsuchi looks about ready to storm off as Sakura replies, “I do.”

Shī opens his mouth and says something that is lost in the chaos of laughter and curses when Kurotsuchi trips on the tatami mat and lands in Kankuro’s lap. _She must be the drunkest of us all_ , Sakura thinks. The girl shoves on Kankuro’s chest, knocking him flat on his back as she hops to her feet and starts shouting at him. Chojuro lifts his hands and plaintively attempts to keep the peace, but stumbles over his own words, tongue-tied and quite drunk himself.

“What did you say?” she asks, laughing still.

He tosses back the last of his tea and then shifts away from the wall to face her. It feels like her breath has been knocked out of her: Shī’s black eyes are direct, his gaze open, hands on his knees as he kneels semi-formally in front of her. She can see hope and heat and resolve in those eyes. “You should come to Kumo this winter,” he repeats.

She blinks a few times before managing to draw in a breath, then nods a little. Sakura is surprised by how steady her voice is. “I think I would like that.”

He grins at her then, clearly happy, and small lines develop around his eyes. All day she’s been watching him, and Sakura has never seen him smile so brightly. It reaches his eyes this time, still Uchiha-black, but a hundred times warmer, and suddenly, she loves them. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sakura bites her lip for a second, then grins back. “Yeah, definitely.” When Shī settles back against the wall he is closer and his bare arm rests fully along hers; neither shies away from the contact, and after a minute, Sakura leans into it. He’s warm, steady—but his breath hitches when she does this. He is not unaffected. Her days are looking an awful lot brighter than they did before he sat down.

She wonders if this is what love is supposed to be like.


End file.
